


Familia

by Banji



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Children, Drabbles, Family, Fluff, Gen, Home Life, Mild Gore, Multi, OC children - Freeform, OCs - Freeform, One Shot Collection, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banji/pseuds/Banji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[X-posted on FF.net] Collection of (connected?) drabbles following the adventures of Manolo, Maria, Joaquin, and their children. May or may not have an actual plot in the end. Warnings will be posted at the start of each chapter.</p><p>EDIT: Now with an actual plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Casa de Sanchez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply for this chapter.

“Come on, Manny, just knock it back like a shot.”

María offers him the small cup of medicine and laughs gently as he turns away from it like a small child, his mouth a thin line and his expression determined. He sits on the edge of their bed, dressed in his pajamas and looking slightly haggard. Rodrigo climbs up onto the bed and sits next to his father, his hair in a messy halo from sleep and fever.

“Yeah, Papi, do it like a shot!”

Manolo shoots a side eye glare at his son. “You shouldn’t even know what that means, mijo.”

María puts her free hand on her hip and gives him a smirk. “To think that the great Manolo Sanchez, who took down Chakal and _El Toro Muerto_ , is afraid of a little cough medicine. Your own children drank theirs without a fuss.”

Sophia pulls herself onto the bed as well. She seats herself on his other side and pats his shoulder reassuringly. “It doesn’t taste that bad, Papi. It will help you feel better.”

After a sterner glance from his wife and encouraging nods from his children, Manolo takes the medicine and quickly downs it. He grimaces at the taste as he returns the empty cup to his wife, who shakes her head at his theatrics. “Stop being such a baby.” She takes the medicine bottle and cup and heads back down to the kitchen to continue making dinner.

Manolo chuckles, which turns into a cough. Sophia grabs his sleeve, concerned. “Does your chest still hurt, Papi?”

“Oh yes,” he cries dramatically, flinging his arm to his forehead in a grand gesture. “The pain, it is so bad!” He flops backwards onto the bed, which bounces the twins and causes them to erupt into a fit of laughter.

“Papi, no!” Rodrigo yells with a giggle, falling heavily on Manolo’s middle and eliciting an “oomph!” from the man. “You have to get well! Your bull fight is next week!” He tugs on Manolo’s collar, trying in vain to pull him up. Sophia joins in, tugging fruitlessly at his arm. Manolo smiles happily at their efforts but remains a dead weight on the bed.

“Sorry, niños, you will have to fight the bull yourselves.”

Their chorus of “nooooo” is interrupted by Chuy bounding into the room and jumping straight into Manolo’s lap. He shoots up with a yelp, knocking Sophia and Rodrigo aside. “Ah, Chuy! Get off, get off!” He struggles to push the pig off the bed as the children laugh even harder.

“What’s going on up here?” asks a booming voice from the hallway.

In unison, the two children yell “Papá!” and scramble off the bed with Chuy following close behind, much to Manolo’s relief. Joaquín steps into the room and effortlessly scoops up his son and daughter. Chuy runs around them in a circle, bleating happily. Manolo watches the spectacle with a contented smile.

“What all have you been up to today?”

They both point at Manolo.

“We got Papi sick!” Sophia announces.

“But not on purpose,” Rodrigo adds quickly.

Joaquin gasps and pretends to look horrified. “You made your Papi sick? How could you do such a thing!?”

“It’s called ‘Papi was told not to cuddle his sick children but did so anyway.’” María appears in the doorway and shoots an accusing glance at Manolo. Chuy abandons him in favor of María and trots over to nuzzle her skirt. Joaquín grins and lowers the twins to the ground gently, then walks over to give his wife a tender kiss.

“No kisses for Papi?” Manolo calls from his spot on the bed.

“No kisses for sick people who can’t listen,” María shoots back. “Now come down and eat, everyone. Dinner is ready.” Chuy and the twins follow after her eagerly, the latter two excitedly asking if churros were a possible option for dessert. Manolo gets to his feet and stretches before stifling another coughing fit. Joaquín is at his side in an instant.

“You okay?”

Manolo waves him off. “I’m fine, really. I’m already feeling better.” He straightens up after the coughing subsides and gives his husband a reassuring smile.

Joaquín gently strokes his husband’s cheek and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. He leads him out of the bedroom and they join the rest of their family in the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Rodrigo and Sophia go through their nightly routine: peppering their parents with endless questions as they get ready for bed.

“How many bad guys did you beat up today, Papá?” “How long did it take you to grow your mustache?” “Mamá, how come no one else has a pig for a pet?” “When will I grow a mustache?” “Are you nervous about your fight next week, Papí?”

“How did you know when you were in love?”

María tucks them into their beds and sits on the edge of Sophia’s, smoothing her skirt and thinking hard about the question. “Well, we were young, about your age, and we were the best of friends. We had all sorts of fun adventures together, and the three of us were inseparable.” She turns to smile at her husbands, both of whom sit cross-legged on the floor, listening intently to her story. “Your fathers would often fight and bicker about which of them was going to win me over, but I knew they were never serious about their rivalry. Our friendship was more important to us than anything else.”

“Then one day, my Papá decided to send me far away across the ocean, to learn how to be a… proper lady.”

She picks at the stitches of Sophia’s blanket, agitated by the memory of being told she would leave San Ángel and her two best friends. Tiny hands distract her anxious fingers and squeeze them reassuringly. She smiles at Sophia, with her big green eyes and honey-brown locks curling gently around her face and shoulders.

“Manolo and Joaquín came to the train station to say goodbye and I just… knew. I knew that I would one day return and reunite with them and that somehow we would all be together forever. Even though we were miles apart, I never stopped loving them. And now we are all finally together.”

Sophia hugs her dolly and giggles, satisfied with her mother’s answer to the question. María catches Rodrigo rolling his eyes at the somewhat sappy tale and laughs.

Manolo gets up from the floor and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You knew how you felt about us earlier than I did. I didn’t fall in love with Joaquín until he grew out his mustache.”

Joaquín shoots up as well and looks flabbergasted at his husband. “You mean you only liked me for my mustache? The truth comes out at last!”

Rodrigo, Sophia and María burst into laughter as Manolo receives a smack on the shoulder.

“It’s been too long of a day for me to hear such a confession,” Joaquín announces, feigning anguish. “Goodnight to everyone except my no-good lying husband!” With that he stomps dramatically out of the room, leaving them to their uncontrollable giggles.

Manolo runs after him, grinning cheekily and shouting, “ _Mi amor_ , come back!”

Eventually the giggles fade and the twins settle back down into their beds. María kisses each of her children on the head, relieved to notice that their fevers have disappeared. “Goodnight, my darlings,” she whispers, turning the bedroom lights off. “Get some rest now.”

She waits for the sleepy chorus of “g’night, Mamá” before closing the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new "thing" for me as I usually don't share my children headcanons with the world, but I kind of wanted to explore the trio's family life and how they would fare as parents. I will be happy to answer any questions you may have about the story so far, but I'll also be explaining things in greater detail further along. This was proofread by myself multiple times but I apologize if I've missed anything. Thank you for reading~!


	2. Dia de los Muertos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: minor (non-violent) child-on-child bullying, mentions of death/the deceased.

“Mamá, why are you baking so much bread?”

Rodrigo and Sophia sit at the kitchen table, watching their mother bake. She hums softly as she works, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun and her clothes covered in flour. The entire house smells strongly of marigolds and sweet bread.

“Because,” she answers, sliding another loaf into the oven. “Tonight is a very special occasion.”

“Is it our birthday?” Sophia asks hopefully.

María laughs. “No, today is _Día de los Muertos_. This bread will go on the altars for those we’ve lost.”

“Oh.”

Sophia looks at her brother, who is focused on his drawing of… something. She can’t tell what it’s supposed to be exactly. She taps thoughtfully on her chin before turning back to her mother.

“Can we… go with you this year?”

María pauses and glances at her daughter. “I thought you said you didn’t like the cemetery at night. You said it was too dark and scary the last time we tried to get you to come along.”

Sophia crosses her arms. “Well, maybe this year I can try to be braver. If we bring a lot of candles maybe it won’t be so scary. Please, Mamá?”

María dusts the flour off her hands and turns to lean on the back of one of the empty chairs. She muses a thought to herself before looking at Sophia. “You will need to go and buy some more candles, then.”

Sophia smiles and leaps out of the chair to hug her mother. “Thank you, Mamá, I will! I’ll go right away!” She grabs Rodrigo’s sleeve and tugs him away from his art. “Come on, Roddy, come with me to buy candles!”

“Wait, I’m not done with my drawing,” he argues, clinging to the table.

She squints at the paper. “Your donkey looks fine, you can finish it later!”

“It’s NOT a donkey, it’s—“

Before he can object any further, she pulls him off the chair and out the door. “Be back later, Mamá,” she calls and slams the front door.

María yells back, “Be careful, niños,” and continues with her baking, shaking her head with a smile.

Sophia pulls a reluctant Rodrigo along the dusty streets of San Ángel as they make their way to the candle shop. The entire town is decorated for the evening’s festivities: _papel picado_ strands are hung on every building, criss-crossing colorfully across the streets. Vendors stand on every corner selling marigolds, incense and other goods. The smell of food and the overlap of conversations fill the air.

They are nearly there when they run into trouble.

“Hey Sánchez!”

The twins freeze in their tracks.

“Great,” mutters Rodrigo, slowly turning around. “Hello, Eduardo.”

Eduardo stands before them with his hands on his hips and an ugly smirk on his face. His best friend/lackey, Miguel, is at his side. “Word on the street is your father is going to fight a bull tomorrow morning. Is that true?”

Rodrigo rolls his eyes. “Well, seeing as there are indeed posters for the event on the streets, I’d say that information is true.”

Miguel snickers, which earns him a hasty smack from Eduardo. The latter quickly strides over, leaning right into Rodrigo’s face. “You think you’re so clever? You are nothing but the son of San Ángel’s biggest disappointment.”

Sophia squeezes her brother’s hand. He ignores it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rodrigo answers, his mouth a thin line.

“Yes you do. Your father is the first Sánchez ever to refuse to finish the bull.”

“You _know_ they don’t kill the bulls during the fights anymore,” he quickly retorts. “Everyone knows that, and they still come to see him.”

“The only reason the town still shows up is because there’s nothing else going on. They all know he’s too much of a coward to finish the bull, and they all despise him for it.” Eduardo sneers and folds his arms in a haughty pose. “Your poor ancestors must be rolling in their graves.”

“Is there a point you’re trying to make, Eduardo?” Sophia asks quickly but firmly. “We’re kind of busy right now.”

Eduardo glares at her. “We’ll just see what happens tomorrow in the ring, won’t we? Though my guess is another disappointing fight.” He turns around sharply, snapping his fingers. “Come on, Miguel, we have better things to do than talk to losers.” Miguel chuckles at them before scampering off behind him.

Sophia places a gentle hand on Rodrigo’s shoulder, which shakes with anger. His face is flushed and he can’t seem to peel his eyes away from the departing Eduardo.

“Come on, Roddy, just ignore them.”

He shakes her hand off roughly, turning to head towards the candle shop. “Don’t fight my battles for me.”

They get as many candles as they can both carry and begin the walk back home in silence. After a few minutes Sophia shoots a worried glance at her brother.

“Roddy—“

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighs. “You shouldn’t let him get away with picking on you. You need to tell Mamá or something.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Sophia says nothing else on the matter.

As they turn the corner they see Joaquín approaching the house, back from his many duties elsewhere.

“Papá!” they yell and run to meet him.

He sees them and smiles, stopping to wait. “Hey, you two! What are you up to?”

They hold up their arms. “We got more candles for _Dia de los Muertos_ ,” Rodrigo answers, finally beginning to cool down after the confrontation with Eduardo.

“Really? Let me see those.” Joaquín takes the candles from each of them and opens the front door. “María! I alone have brought you more candles for tonight!”

In an instant Rodrigo and Sophia are jumping at him, trying to reclaim their goods. “Papá, that’s a lie!”

“Niños, I thought you said _you_ were getting the candles,” says María with a grin.

The twins point accusingly at their father, much to the amusement of their parents. Before they have a chance to explain, Manolo walks in through the still-open front door. His clothes are dusty and dirty from practicing in the ring, but he wears a tired smile on his face.

“Papi!” Rodrigo shouts as he and Sophia quickly lose interest in getting back their candles. They run to hug him. “Did you have a good practice today?”

Manolo stoops down to gather them in his arms. “Yes, I did! I think it will be a magnificent fight tomorrow.”

Sophia taps on his shoulder and he turns to her. “Papi, um… Roddy and I are going to go with you to _Dia de los Muertos_ tonight. Is that okay?”

He smiles and gives each of them a kiss on the forehead. “That sounds perfect, mis hijos.” He sets them down and gives a quick kiss to his husband and wife before heading upstairs to wash up.

Soon the six of them (“We can’t leave Chuy at home alone!”) are off to the cemetery, each of them carrying an armful of supplies.

Once they arrive, Sophia and Rodrigo watch in confusion as their mother and father head off in different directions. They follow Manolo to the Sánchez family plot and begin setting up the altars.

“Papi, where are Papá and Mamá going?”

“Mamá is going to spend some time with her father,” he answers, carefully arranging marigolds on his mother’s grave. “And Papá is setting up an altar for his father. They will rejoin us later, don’t worry.”

The children glance at one another but accept what they’ve been told and continue helping their father. After a few minutes, Rodrigo looks back in the direction Joaquín went.

“I’m going to go check on Papá,” he announces suddenly, then clarifies, “just so he isn’t lonely. I’ll take Chuy with me.”

Manolo nods. “Be careful, mijo.”

Rodrigo motions for Chuy to follow him and the two of them set off together. Along the way they run into friends, neighbors, and schoolmates, with whom they exchange well wishes for the occasion. It’s a bit odd to Rodrigo, the idea of celebrating the deceased with a big happy festival in a cemetery. But watching the peaceful and joy-filled faces of everyone around him, he can sort of understand why this is a happy time, even considering the location and theme.

He and Chuy finally find Joaquín, finishing up the altar for his own father. The statue of General Mondragon is set apart from the rest of the graves, and its towering height and jagged edges give it a foreboding presence. Rodrigo pets Chuy’s head in an effort to not be scared.

But Joaquín is there and he’s placing bread and candles and flowers, just like everyone else. They watch closely as he stands up straight and gives a formal salute to the statue. The look on Papá’s face is torn between adoration and resentment.

“Papá?”

Joaquín turns to them, smiling, his face relaxing instantly. Rodrigo approaches the altar and stares up at the statue of his grandfather.

“He looks kind of scary.”

Joaquín chuckles and ruffles his son’s hair. “It’s not the best pose in the world, I agree. But it’s more about what the statue stands for.” He gets down on one knee so that they are at equal height. “You see, my father was a brave and strong man who protected the town from the bandito Chakal. He drove them far away and was able to provide protection and peace in San Ángel.”

Joaquín sighs quietly and Rodrigo looks at him. His single green eye looks tired and sad.

“I wanted to be just like him, Roddy. I wanted to be like my father so much that I almost forgot how to be myself. And I nearly lost everything because of it.”

Rodrigo puts his hand on his father’s shoulder, trying to find the right words to console him. But Joaquín quickly regains his warm smile and stands up.

“But tonight is not the night for sad memories.” He gives the altar one last look and nods, satisfied with his decorating. “Let’s go be with our family.”

The three of them return to the Sánchez graves, where María has already rejoined them. Rodrigo and Sophia sit and listen as their parents recount stories of their childhood and families, of birthdays and fights and weddings and funerals. The twins see smiles and hear laughter, but take notice the way Mamá holds Papi’s hand very tightly, how Papá watches him carefully as he talks about his parents.

After the sun has long since set and the light of the candles bathes them all in a soft orange glow, two figures appear seemingly out of nowhere. Manolo notices them first and smiles.

“I was wondering when you two would show up.”

The children turn to look. Two elders, a man and a woman, approach the group hand in hand. The woman smiles kindly and nods her head, mindful of the chicken perched curiously on top of her hair. The old man with her smiles as well, though his grin looks more sinister.

“Good evening, everyone,” says the old woman, “and a happy _Dia de los Muertos_ to you all.”

“You’re later than usual,” remarks Joaquín.

The old man grins even wider at the soldier. “Lots of business to attend, I’m afraid. Especially today.” Joaquín stares at him unamused.

The twins watch their parents exchange hugs and regards to the couple. After a few minutes, the woman at last notices the twins and acknowledges them with an excited smile. “Hola, niños. You two have gotten bigger since the last time we’ve seen you.”

Sophia blushes before answering, “Sorry, but have we met before, señora?”

The woman laughs. “Forgive me, it’s been a while. You and your brother were very young when we first met you.” She studies each of their faces, looking back and forth between them. “You look so much like your parents.” Rodrigo looks at Sophia. They decide that they like this woman.

The old man clears his throat and comes to stand beside the woman. He holds out a wrinkled hand, his features softening into something more genuine. “Dear children, may my wife and I please have some of your bread? We have been traveling far and we are very hungry.”

The twins look quickly to their parents for guidance. The three of them smile and nod with approval. Rodrigo happily offers a loaf of bread to the woman as Sophia gently places another loaf in the old man’s hands. She studies his weathered features and decides that perhaps he’s not entirely mean.

The old couple bow and thank them for their kindness. They bid the group goodnight and turn to leave, hand in hand once again. Rodrigo and Sophia watch the departing pair closely as they seem to almost vanish into the shadows. They turn back to see each of their parents share a knowing look with each other, their faces still bathed in the warm glow of the candlelight.

“Who were those two?” Rodrigo asks, breaking the silence. “Some family of ours?”

Manolo shakes his head.

“No, just some very dear old friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I baked pan de muerto after I had already written the beginning of this chapter and let me tell you it is time-consuming ;v; Sorry if the flow of this chapter is a little off; it was written in bits and pieces and I've tried to edit it as I go along. 
> 
> Thank you for your time~


	3. Corrida

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, child-on-child bullying, mention of death/dying.
> 
> This is a long chapter and is more intense than the previous ones.

The next morning marked the day of Manolo’s corrida and the entire town seemed to buzz with excitement. Rodrigo and Sophia had woken up the Sánchez household incredibly early, neither able to contain their excitement. To be fair, their parents were also excited for the day: Manolo wore his finest bullfighting outfit with not a single embellishment out of place, Joaquín had polished his many medals until they shined as brightly as the desert sun, and María took extra care in making sure her long brown hair flowed perfectly.

Sophia and Rodrigo also dressed up for the occasion: Sophia looked like a miniature version of her mother, complete with her own colorful folding fan, and Rodrigo wore a young torero’s suit similar to his father’s. The two of them skip and laugh happily as they make their way, along with the rest of the town, to the arena.

Once there, Manolo bids them goodbye as he goes down alone to prepare. They wish him luck and continue on to find a good seat. They would traditionally sit in General Posada’s box, but the children complained that they couldn’t see what was happening in the ring. So María and Joaquín lead their children to an empty row close to the ring and wait for the event to begin. The twins fidget in their seats, eager for the corridato start.

They’ve seen enough fights to remember the overall flow of things: the Rodríguez brothers always play a few songs first. Then their father enters the ring, dedicates the fight to his family, and the bull is let loose. Manolo deftly maneuvers the animal around the ring, performing dazzling feats and acrobatics while maintaining a calm and sure demeanor. The corrida usually ends with Manolo deceptively getting the bull to charge right into its pen, at which point the crowd would cheer and throw roses. Sometimes the bull would tire itself out, at which point he would very carefully coax the animal out of the ring. Of course the tradition had always been for the matador to finish the bull, but to the relief of the twins, and the approval of their parents, he never harmed a single one.

At last the mariachi band concludes and they watch Manolo step into the ring, confidence in every stride. He waves to the crowd as they clap and cheer, a big smile on his face. He spots them and gestures.

“I dedicate this corrida to my beautiful family!”

Everyone claps harder as the bull is released and Manolo turns to face him. He waves his cape and shouts, “ _¡toro, toro!_ ” as the bull charges. At the last second he expertly side-steps the animal and controls its path with such delicate ease.

The twins watch their father with awe. Rodrigo wonders to himself if he too could be a great bullfighter someday. Whenever he carefully mentioned the idea to Papi, the man gave him an odd look and wouldn’t say much on the matter. Was he not fit to carry on the Sánchez title?

His thoughts are interrupted when Sophia shakes his shoulder. “Hey, will you go with me to get a churro at the snack stand?”

“Huh?”

“A churro, Mamá said I could get one.”

Rodrigo glances at the ring. Manolo whirls the bull around his dancing feet, laughing loudly. The audience begins to throw flowers and sombreros onto the sand. “I don’t want to miss the fight.”

Sophia huffs. “It’ll only be a minute! Please, Roddy!”

He sighs dramatically and stands up. María gives them some money and tells them to be careful. They promise to come right back as they head towards the snack stand, Sophia holding her fan up in front of her face like a “proper young lady.”

The snack stand is on the other side of the arena, so they try to watch the fight as they walk.

“He looks so at ease in the ring,” Rodrigo remarks, a wistful look in his eye. Sophia studies him quietly. “I wonder why he never enjoyed doing something he’s so good at.”

“Maybe because his Papá forced it on him.”

Rodrigo turns to her. “Then why would he still do it now, when he could just be a musician?”

Sophia shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe because it’s easier now he doesn’t have to finish the bull.”

He considers this for a moment. Papi wouldn’t fake such enjoyment, not when he’s so caught up in his own element. He glances back to the ring. Manolo is now leaping over the bull whenever he nears, spinning in the air and landing gracefully on his feet. The smile never leaves his face. “Maybe you’re right, So—“

“He can’t finish the bull because he’s a coward.”

They freeze. Eduardo stands in front of them with his arms crossed, Miguel hovering near his side. Sophia watches her brother’s face turn ashen.

“I mean, what’s the point of a corrida if you’re not going to kill the bull at the end?”

“If you’re so bored from the lack of slaughtering animals,” Rodrigo asks, “then why are you even here, Eduardo?”

The boy smirks haughtily. “To prove a point. Your father is not worthy of the Sánchez name and legacy, and neither are you.” Miguel laughs mockingly.

Sophia sees Rodrigo visibly tense. Eduardo’s smile widens. He knows he’s struck a nerve.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rodrigo responds.

“Just face it, Rodrigo. You’re not really a Sánchez. You wouldn’t last one minute in the ring if given the chance. You don’t have what it takes.”

“Yes I do! I’m as much of a Sánchez as any one of my ancestors, just like my Papi!”

“Rod—“

“Shut up, Sophie, stay out of this!”

Sophia stares at him, taken aback by his tone. Eduardo sees an opportunity and snatches the colorful fan from her hands.

“Hey!” she yells in protest. “Give that back, it’s my Mamá’s!”

“So you say you’re a Sánchez?” Eduardo asks, examining the fan. “Alright then, prove it.” He sharply folds the fan up, turns and throws it into the ring. It flutters and lands not far from the wooden safety fences. “If you’re so brave, show us.” He points commandingly at the ring. “Go get the fan.”

Rodrigo swallows hard and looks at the fan. It’s not that far away but it’s still very close to the chalk-marked ring.  He moves to the edge of the balcony and Sophia grabs his arm.

“Roddy, please don’t! It’s okay, I can get it after the fight!” She gives him a pleading look. “Don’t do this.”

Mind made up, he shakes her off and climbs through the railing, landing below with a small thud. He picks himself up and searches for where the fan landed.

Sophia grips the railing. “Roddy, stop!”

Rodrigo ignores her as he quickly and quietly sneaks toward the fan. His father is on the other side of the arena, as is the bull. If he can get out without being caught, maybe he won’t be in too much trouble for doing something this foolish.

He picks up the fan and can’t help but feel proud of himself. Rodrigo turns back to the three of them and, with a flourish, waves the fan aloft and bows theatrically. When he raises his head, he is surprised to see that their faces have gone white. Even Eduardo’s. Suddenly he notices the cheering has somehow morphed into shouts of concern. Rodrigo feels his heart sink as understanding sets in.

Slowly, carefully, he turns back around. The three of them – he, his father, and the bull – form a triangle in their current positions, all equidistant from each other in the ring. Manolo stares at his son in shock. He sees him at last.

So does the bull.

The giant animal studies him from afar, a newcomer in their private dance. Rodrigo knows he needs to move, at least to get behind the safety of the fence, but he’s frozen where he stands. He hears faint but familiar shouting from somewhere in the crowd. Mamá and Papá have spotted him too, then.

Time slows to a crawl. Rodrigo watches his father take a step toward him, as does the bull. Manolo yells and waves his flag in an effort to distract him, but the animal’s curiosity is piqued. The bull paws the ground, his energy refreshed at having found a smaller, unarmed target. Manolo waves the flag once more, shouts, then drops everything and breaks into a sprint just as the bull begins to charge. Rodrigo just stands there, still gripping his sister’s fan.

By some miracle, his father reaches him first and more or less throws him out of the way in the instant the bull makes contact.

Rodrigo’s head lands with a thud. His vision swims and it takes a moment before he can focus on the awful sight in front of him. The crowd has gone completely silent.

The bull has gored Manolo right above his left hip and, through the velocity of the charge, has him pinned to the wall of the arena. The matador has one hand on the horn and the other on the bull’s head, struggling against the animal’s weight. He strains and pushes the bull back enough so that he’s no longer stuck against the wall. The bull shakes his head, trying to aggravate the wound, but Manolo holds fast and moves with him as best he can. Wincing, he manages to gently maneuver the bull’s horn out of his side. Once free, the animal chuffs and backs away further, but remains focused on the matador. Manolo stands perfectly still.

“HEY!”

All three of them, including the bull, turn their attention. Pepe Rodríguez, though shaking like a leaf and looking scared out of his wits, begins to taunt the bull from the other side of the ring. His brothers join him and the bull, irritated by the sudden distraction, runs toward them. Other men are jumping into the ring now, one takes out a rope, and together they are able to catch the bull and put him back in his pen. 

“Rodrigo.”

He looks to his father, who sounds unnaturally calm. He can only see him from behind but he spots the small river of red running down the matador’s leg. Manolo is shaking and he falls, heavily, to one knee.

“Go… back to your seat.”

Rodrigo takes a tentative step towards the man, reaching towards him, wanting to help. “Papi—“

_“I SAID GO!”_

The harshness of the command snaps him out of his trance. Rodrigo had never heard his father use that tone of voice. He can hear the panic of the crowd now; he can see General Posada, Father Domingo, his Mamá, all rushing to the fallen matador. Rodrigo backs away, unsure of what to do. The ring is spinning and he feels dizzy. As he backs into the wall, he hears someone land next to him. A strong pair of hands lift him up and shove him back over the railing. Joaquín gives him a grim look.

“Rodrigo, go find Sophie. She’s with Sister Ana.”

“Papá, I didn’t mea—“

“Go.”

There was no time for apologies. Joaquín turns and runs to his husband, pulling the man carefully into his arms. People begin to crowd around and Rodrigo can no longer see them sitting on the dirty sand.

In a daze, he heads toward where they were sitting earlier, though it feels like days have passed. How long had he been down there in the ring? How long had the bull been--?

“Rodrigo, come here!”

He looks up and sees Sister Ana waving him over. He always liked her, she reminded him of the grandmothers he’d never get to meet. At least, not in this life. He can see her clutching her rosary beads tightly in one hand and hugging Sophia closer with the other. His sister is crying so hard her whole body shakes. Rodrigo feels numb as he approaches them.

“Sophie…”

 “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT, RODDY?!” she screams, glaring at him through her watery eyes. “WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST WAIT UNTIL AFTER THE CORRIDA? I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO IT!”

Her voice is so loud and vicious. Sister Ana looks down at her with wide-eyed concern.

_“IF PAPI DIES, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”_

She breaks down into sobs and buries her face into Sister Ana’s habits. Her words and her tears kill him. Rodrigo feels himself start to hyperventilate. The world grows fuzzy and white. He can’t be here anymore. It’s too much to handle. He turns and runs, ignoring Sister Ana’s protests. He runs past the exit, past the church, past the town square. He keeps running.

 

* * *

 

“He’ll be okay.”

It’s the first thing Joaquín has said in quite a while. He stares at the hallway wall, not knowing if his words are meant to comfort his wife or himself.

María has her arms crossed tightly across her body to keep from shaking. She didn’t know how much time had passed since they had brought Manolo home and called for the doctor. How long it had been since they’d started operating on him. The doctor had shooed them out of the bedroom to avoid crowding while he works, so they stood waiting like sentries outside the door. Joaquín tries to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder but she stiffens at his touch.

“He’ll be okay,” he says once more.

“You don’t know that, don’t say things like that unless you know for sure.”

María turns away from him and studies her dress to distract herself: the once pristine white blouse is now stained with semi-dried blood. She will probably have to throw it out, along with the bed sheets, Joaquin’s undershirt which had been used for a tourniquet, and Manolo’s—

She shakes away the tears that threaten to spill and tries to swallow past the lump in her throat. Joaquín drops down to his knees and gently takes her hands. She attempts to turn away again and he holds her chin in place.

“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

She remains resolute, her eyes closed tightly.

“María, look at me.”

His voice is quiet but commanding. She concedes and meets his single green eye. She feels the tears forming again at the sight of his gentle and sincere gaze.

“We are a team, the three of us. You don’t have to keep it all locked up inside.” He softly strokes her cheek as she crumbles into his embrace. “It’s going to be okay, mi amor.”

The sound of the door handle interrupts their tender moment. Joaquín quickly rises to his feet and María wipes away her tears. They brace themselves as the door opens and the doctor steps into the hallway.

“We’ve done all we can for now. He’ll need close observation for the next few days but he’s stable at the moment.”

María’s voice sounds hoarse as she asks, “Is he—will he be alright?”

The doctor nods. “The wound was deep but it didn’t hit anything vital as far as we can tell. He’s had a lot of blood loss but with bed rest and fluids he should be back to normal in a couple of weeks.”

The two of them release breaths they didn’t know they were holding. Manolo is going to be okay. Joaquín squeezes her shoulder reassuringly and she grabs his hand in response.

“Can we see him now?”

“Of course. He’s going to be a little drowsy, we’ve given him some medicine to help with the pain.”

María nods. “We need to tell Sophia and Ro—Rodrigo!” She gasps and looks at Joaquín. “I forgot Sister Ana said he ran off at the arena,” She furrows her brow, her eyes watering. “What kind of a mother am I, Joaquín? I didn’t even noticed he wasn’t here!”

“Hey, hey, calm down!” Joaquín grabs her shoulders gently but firmly. “He’s probably sulking somewhere, I highly doubt he’d leave the town.” He offers her a smile and wipes away her tears.  “I’ll go find him and bring him home.”

María nods again and gives him a quick kiss before he leaves. She notices his yearning glance towards their bedroom before he heads down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

He almost didn’t check his father’s memorial. Joaquín had searched all of Rodrigo’s usual hiding spots around town, but he was nowhere to be found. Then a nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him to check the cemetery and sure enough, Joaquín spots a tiny figure huddled in the dark alcove next to General Mondragon’s statue.

Quietly, tenderly, he approaches the curled-up form and sits down next to him. Rodrigo stares blankly at the ground. Joaquín struggles to find the right words to comfort his son.

“Papi’s going to be okay.”

He sees Rodrigo’s eyes tear up but he is only given the slightest of nods. Joaquín studies him carefully before asking,

“Are you okay, mijo?”

Rodrigo squeezes his eyes shut. No one asked him that, not once during the whole ordeal. They were busy with more serious matters, of course, but it’s the first time anyone asked how he was doing through all this.

“My head hurts,” he admits quietly. Joaquín smiles warmly and rests a soothing hand on the boy’s back. Rodrigo hesitates before meeting his father’s gaze. “Papá, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I was trying to get Sophie’s fan back after Eduardo—“

“It’s okay, mijo. I understand.”

Rodrigo tries to find some hint of shame, of anger, hidden in his father’s eye, but there is none to be found. There is only understanding and forgiveness. He shivers, suddenly aware of the cold. When had it become night?

Joaquín stands and Rodrigo allows himself to be picked up off the ground.

“Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

Sister Ana is still praying on her rosary when Joaquín and Rodrigo return. She sits on one of the couches in front of the fire place. Sophia rests her head on the nun’s lap, tired from crying. Sister Ana looks up and sighs with relief as they walk through the front door.

“Oh Rodrigo, thank God you’re safe!”

Rodrigo rushes over to her, taking her hand. “Sister, I’m sorry for running off earlier. Please forgive me.”

“Of course I forgive you,” she says, hugging him gently.

He smiles at her before looking down at his sister. Sophia’s eyes are half-closed and red from crying.

“…said it was your fault,” she mumbles hoarsely.

“Hmm?”

She looks up at him. “I’m sorry I said it was you fault, Roddy.”

He takes the fan out of his pocket and presses it into her hand. Sophia’s chin wobbles but she doesn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Rodrigo kisses her forehead.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

She closes her eyes and nods, their mutual forgiveness understood. Joaquín approaches them and scoops her into his arms.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done today, Sister Ana. Why don’t you go home and get some rest.”

As they see her to the door, María bounds downstairs. She runs to Rodrigo and pulls him into a hug.

“Rodrigo, mi bebé, I’m so glad you’re okay!” She lets go and holds him firmly by the shoulders. “What were you thinking?! I was so worried about you, don’t you ever scare me like that again!” She sighs and embraces him once more.

“Can I see Papi now?”

María nods. “Of course, mijo.”

Joaquín take Sophia, fast asleep in his arms, to her room to put her to bed. Rodrigo follows his mother into the master bedroom and gingerly approaches the bed. He feels dizzy again and reconsiders his request. María gently nudges him forward and steadily he finds his way to his father’s bedside.

Manolo looks far too pale and his torso is heavily bandaged, but he appears to be resting peacefully, propped up on a pile of pillows. Rodrigo places a hand on his arm and is given a warm smile in response. The matador turns to face him, eyes slowly opening.

“Hello, mijo,” he whispers.

“Hi, Papi,” Rodrigo whispers back.

Manolo pats the bed and Rodrigo carefully climbs up. He nestles himself next his father’s uninjured side. He doesn’t know what to say. María sits on the other side of the bed, her hand wrapped protectively around her husband’s.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he blurts out finally. “I’m sorry I jumped into the ring and caused you to get hurt. I didn’t mean to, Papi. I’m sorry for making you mad.”

Manolo caresses his son’s face. “I wasn’t mad in the ring, mijo, I was scared.”

Rodrigo frowns. “Because of the bull?”

He shakes his head. “No, I was scared because of you. I was afraid you might get hurt.” He sits up further, fully awake now. “I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” Manolo chuckles. “Besides, I’ve fought much bigger bulls than that. You think one tiny bull is going to stop your Papí? Never! I am a Sánchez, as are you, and the Sánchez are a lot tougher than they look!”

Like a dam spilling over, the tears come at last. Rodrigo tries to laugh but the sound catches in his throat and he buries his face in his hands. Manolo pulls the boy into his arms, ignoring the twinge of pain from the movement. He and his wife exchange looks.

“It’s my fault, Papi, it’s all my fault,” Rodrigo sobs into his father’s chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Manolo shushes him quietly. Joaquín returns from putting Sophia to bed and joins their tender moment. He give his husband a concerned look but is met with a gentle, knowing smile in response. None of them say anything as their son lets out all of his grief.

After a few minutes, Rodrigo has calmed and his breathing is slow and even as he starts to drift off. Manolo adjusts the boy in his arms and moves to stand up.

“Manolo, no,” Joaquín immediately objects. “Sit down, I can take him to bed.”

“I’ve got this.”

María grabs at his shirt to stop him. “You’re going to rip your stitches, you don’t need to—“

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Manolo assures them, standing up with a slight hiss of pain. They watch with reluctance as he carries Rodrigo to his room.

Manolo tenderly lays the boy on his bed and removes his shoes, socks and clothes, leaving him in his undergarments. He tucks his son into his bed and kisses both of his children goodnight before returning to his room to be chastised by his husband and wife.


	4. Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Mention of death/dying, child peril.

“Pobre niños,” La Muerte whispers, running a hand through Rodrigo’s hair. The boy’s face is peaceful, albeit red from tears and exhaustion, as he sleeps.

Xibalba regards his wife with curiosity as she fawns over the sleeping children. He doesn’t fully understand her fascination with them, but he remains as quiet company nonetheless.

“They’ve been through too much today,” she muses, turning to Sophia and brushing a few stray curls from her face.

“Yeah, it’s terrible.” His candles bathe the surrounding space in acid green light as he examines the décor of their room. “Why are we here, my dear?”

La Muerte rises and turns to face him. Her eyes smolder with an unknown purpose, which makes him want her all the more. “We are here just in case.”

Xibalba scoffs, his feathers ruffling. “Is he that important to you? He’s just a mortal, and a rather boring one at that.”

She smirks and glides slowly to him. “Don’t tell me you don’t care about him, about all of them.” At her sweet touch, he can’t help but turn to putty in her hands. It is, perhaps, his one weakness. “They are like our own little family.”

“M’yeah, I guess so,” he agrees reluctantly. He wouldn’t go so far as to call them “family”, but this particular group of mortals had indeed worn their way into whatever he had left of a heart.

La Muerte rests her hands on her husband’s shoulder as they watch over the twins. “Make you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm?”

“Which one is their father. It’s hard to tell since they don’t really take after either of—hold on,” she interrupts her own thought, her eyes glowing. “I’ll be right back.”

The goddess quietly whips into a frenzy of marigold petals and shoots down the hallway, reforming in the trio’s master bedroom. She approaches the bed, her own candles giving off a soft glow of light on Manolo’s still form. His brow is knitted in unconscious pain and his face is pale and sweaty. Carefully she bends over him and cups his face in her hands, kissing him gently on the forehead.

“Not yet, mi tesoro.”

La Muerte smiles warmly as the man’s face relaxes and a soft sigh escapes his lips. She admires the way María curls around her husband almost instinctively, how Joaquín has a protective arm stretched over both of them. Satisfied that all is well, she returns to the children’s room.

Xibalba stands with his hands behind his back as he looks between the twins. He studies them for another minute before remarking, “That’s called cheating, mi amor.”

She puts her hands on her hips, mildly irritated. “Don’t you dare talk to me about cheating, cheater.”

He turns to his wife, a cheeky grin on his face. “Anyway, I was thinking about what you said. Regarding the children.” Xibalba sidles up to her. “It is hard, to tell isn’t it?”

La Muerte stares at him, her mouth a thin line.

“Would you like to bet on it?”

She has to fight to keep her voice down. “How DARE you even think like that, Xibalba! These poor children just witnessed their father nearly skewered to death a few hours ago, and you think it’s appropriate to places bets on their parentage?! I can’t believe you would sink that low!” She turns away with a huff, the skulls decorating her hat tinkling softly.

He waits.

After a few seconds, La Muerte turns back, her eyes burning with interest.

“What did you have in mind?”

 

* * *

 

After the incident, Rodrigo’s behavior started to change.

As the days passed, it became apparent that he was still shaken by the event. His parents did their best to assure him that no, Papi was not going to die and yes, they were absolutely sure. Manolo especially tried to keep his son’s mind off of such morbid thinking, often playing songs for him and telling stories about the great Sánchez bullfighters. He even tried reenacting some of the more daring stunts before María had caught him out of bed and yelled at him about tearing his stitches. Rodrigo would smile and laugh, but the fretful look would return not long after.

“Papá says you’re going to get permanent wrinkles on your head if you keep looking like that,” Sophia informs him one afternoon.

They sit on the floor in their parents’ room, playing a card game. Rodrigo glances worriedly at his father every few minutes, even though the man looks quite relaxed as he lazily strums the guitar. Recently Manolo had started getting anxious at being stuck in bed for so long. María sits next to him, reading a book about Greek mythology.

“Roddy, it’s your turn.”

Rodrigo turns back to the game, his brow still twisted up in concern as he vacantly scans his cards. Sophia sighs, matching his expression. Her brother had grown very jumpy and cautious as of late. He lost interest in most everything, his school work was suffering, and he had begun having difficulty sleeping. 

After watching his attention stray once more, she puts down her cards. “If you don’t want to play anymore, we can do something else,” she offers quietly.

At last he faces her and realizes what he’d been doing. “I’m sorry, Sophie, I just… don’t feel like card games right now.”

“Why don’t you two go help Papá in the kitchen?”

They turn to Manolo, watching as he adjusts one of the chords he’s playing. He smiles at them encouragingly. “I’m sure he’s very lonely and could use some help.”

He can already see Rodrigo start to object, but Sophia reacts first and grabs his wrist firmly. “That’s a great idea, Papi,” she replies enthusiastically. “Come on, Roddy.”

Before he can properly voice his concern, his sister drags him out the door. Manolo shares a smirk with his wife as they relax in the peaceful silence.

Downstairs, Joaquín is busy preparing lunch for his family. He grins to himself as the sound of tiny pounding footsteps grow louder on the stairs.

“Papá, we came to help you make lunch,” Sophia announces.

He feigns surprise as he faces them. “You did? That would be so helpful, niños, thank you.”

Joaquín assigns them to set the table and wash vegetables. As Sophia skips around the table, placing utensils and plates, Rodrigo quietly studies his father. The man has his sleeves rolled up while he works and for the first time, it seems, the boy takes notice of the scars. Tiny white lines, almost invisible, mark the man’s arms like constellations. Joaquín is without his eye patch as well, for whatever reason, and Rodrigo stares at the way the scarred skin puckers around the milky eyeball, the way the angry red line runs right through his bushy eyebrow. Though the eye is now useless and more or less a blind spot, Joaquín senses the boy’s gawking. 

“I think that lettuce is clean enough, mijo.”

Rodrigo blushes and ceases his scrubbing. He hands the lettuce to his father and watches him chop it expertly.

“Something on your mind?”

“Just… wondering about your scars, Papá,” he admits. Sophia stops her task and waits to hear his response.

To his credit, Joaquín doesn’t miss a beat, keeping his rhythm even as he continues working. “Well, being a soldier is not always a risk-free job. Sometimes you have to do things where you put your life on the line, and sometimes you get hurt.” He finishes with the lettuce and begins slicing tomatoes. “I used to have a medal that could protect against such dangers but things have changed and I’ll admit I’ve been a bit careless—“

“A magic medal that protects against danger?”

Now Joaquín has to stop. He puts the knife down and looks at his son’s desperately hopeful face. He should have known better than to bring up the medal while Rodrigo still blames himself for the incident, that he would pick up on it immediately. Running a hand over his mustache, the soldier crouches and puts a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. Sophia hovers nearby, gripping one of the chairs tightly.

“I want you to listen to me, both of you,” Joaquín adds, acknowledging his daughter. “There are objects in this world that should not be messed with, especially by humans. They are powerful and they are useful, but they can corrupt just as easily.” He squeezes his son’s shoulder, urging him to listen carefully. “Rodrigo, what happened to Papi was an accident, and there’s nothing you can do or could have done to fix it. Okay? He’s going to get better, he is already getting better, and soon we’ll all be able to look back on that day as a thing of the past. But you can’t do that if you keep focusing on something that can’t be changed.”

Rodrigo eventually nods, to appease his father. Joaquín smiles and ruffles his son’s hair before returning to his cooking. A knock on the front door soon interrupts him again, and while their father goes to answer it, Sophia takes her brother’s hands.

“Please, Roddy, please listen to what Papá is telling you,” she begs. “I’m worried about you, you’re not acting like yourself.”

Rodrigo resists the initial childish urge to shake her off, to tell her it’s none of her business, and instead gives her a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll try, Sophie.”

“Rodrigo, please come here for a minute.”

He leaves his sister and heads to the front entrance. Standing at the door in front of Joaquín is Eduardo and his mother. Señora Rivera looks distraught, while Eduardo stares red-faced at nothing in particular. Before Rodrigo can retreat, his father grabs him and holds him in place. Now both parents are in the classic position of planting their children in front of them, hands on shoulders, forcing the two to make eye contact.

“Again, I’m so sorry, once he told me what he did I brought him straight over to apologize,” Señora Rivera is already saying. Eduardo shoots Rodrigo a glance, neither friendly nor spiteful.

“I understand, and I thank you for coming, but I don’t believe the blame is entirely your son’s,” Joaquín answers. Rodrigo and Sophia had already explained to their parents what had happened that day at the corrida.

“Eduardo, I think there’s something you need to say to Señor Mondragon and his son.”

Eduardo tenses under his mother’s request and somehow finds the courage to look the soldier in the eye. “I’m very sorry for putting your family in danger, sir. It was wrong of me and I hope you can forgive my actions.” Rodrigo almost rolls his eyes at the obviously rehearsed apology, but then the other boy looks at him in a curiously honest way. “I’m sorry, Rodrigo, for what I did. For daring you to jump into the ring. For…” Eduardo hesitates, either embarrassed by his mother or intimidated by Joaquín. “For saying you would never be a Sánchez.”

Rodrigo feels a gentle squeeze from his father, encouraging a response. “I forgive you, Eduardo. It wasn’t all your fault, I let my anger get the better of me and I acted recklessly.”

He watches the boy’s face morph into an expression that almost seems thankful. Rodrigo offers him a hand and the two boys shake. Satisfied with the exchange, Señora Rivera bids them farewell, apologizes one last time, and steers Eduardo back towards their home.

“I’m very proud of you, mijo,” Joaquín tells him as they return to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

After Manolo was deemed fit enough to start getting back into his regular routine, Rodrigo’s temperament improved somewhat. Occasionally the boy would lapse back into panicked worry, but such episodes never lasted long.

However, unbeknownst to his family, the information about the magic medal continued to torment his mind.

A medal that could protect against injury and death sounded like a truly essential item to possess. And, he reasoned to himself, he wouldn’t ever have to worry about his family getting hurt ever again. Rodrigo frequently attempted to ask his Papá about the current whereabouts of the medal, convinced that perhaps he still owned it. Surely a token that powerful wouldn’t just be thrown away.

One such attempt occurred the morning Joaquín was to leave town on an assignment. He had asked for a short term leave while Manolo recovered, which was respected, but they insisted that he return to his duties as soon as he could. One of the nearby towns had been under attack from a group of bandidos and needed protection and fresh supplies.

The sun had just begun to rise by the time Joaquín came into the twins’ room to tell them goodbye. The soldier gently strokes his daughter’s hair, causing her to stir and blink at him with bleary eyes.

“I’m about to head out, Sophie, just wanted to say goodbye before I go.”

She sighs and opens her arms for a hug. He smiles and holds her close for a moment, then gingerly tucks her back into the blanket. The man turns to his son and is surprised to see the boy already awake. Rodrigo stares at him in the dim light.

“When will you be back?” he asks quietly.

“I honestly don’t know, but it shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

The boy sits up. “Will it be dangerous? What if something happens? Maybe you should take your magic medal just in case.”

Joaquín studies his son’s face. The concerned pull of his brow from worrying, the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, the downward pull of his mouth from frowning. He puts his hand on Rodrigo’s and looks him in the eye.

“Roddy, we’ve talked about this. You can’t keep worrying about things. Besides, I don’t have the magic medal anymore. But I can’t let the possibility of getting hurt stop me from doing my job. There’s no sense in worrying yourself sick over something you can’t control, okay?” He kisses the boy’s forehead and begins to stand when Rodrigo impulsively grabs his sleeve.

“I don’t want you to go,” he admits in a hushed voice. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to go, it’s my job.”

“Please stay.” His son is shaking as he grips the fabric of the uniform. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Roddy, I’m sorry, I don’t have time for this right now.”

“Please, Papá—“

“Rodrigo, enough.”

Joaquín disentangles his son’s grip and stands abruptly. He feels a pang of guilt for being so stern, but he can’t delay his departure any longer. “I’ll be back in a few days, I promise,” he says before heading out the door.

Rodrigo watches him go with a heavy heart. So that’s it, then. There was no medal to protect his family after all. He lays back down in bed and remains wide awake, staring at the ceiling until his mother comes in an hour later to get them up.

 

* * *

 

 _How did we let things get this bad?_ , Sophia wonders to herself as she hurries after her brother.

Joaquín had returned from his duties unscathed, as he promised, and Manolo had completely healed from his injuries. Weeks had passed and life should have returned to normal in the Sánchez household. If only it could have been that simple.

Rodrigo had become a mess. His condition had grown worse as the weeks went by and it had taken a toll on everyone in the house. They tried to be supportive, especially Sophia, but moments would come where his manic behavior would cross a nerve and someone would snap at him to please just stop.

Earlier that day the boy had said or something, Sophia couldn’t remember what, that had warranted yelling from Papi.

_“This is no way to live your life, mijo, and it needs to stop!”_

Whatever it was, Rodrigo had left the house in tears and Sophia took it upon herself to sneak out the back and go get him. She had followed him to the church but lost him inside and spent a few minutes looking in closets and backrooms before resigning to check the only other place left: the roof.

Sophia fights back her fear of heights and steadily makes her way up the many steps and ladders. Climbing the last ladder, she sees that her brother was in too much of a hurry to shut the heavy trap-style door that opens upward. She mentally thanks him as she probably wouldn’t have been able to open it easily on her own. Poking her head out of the door, she spies him perched on the south edge of the roof. Carefully Sophia stands on the weathered stone and makes her way towards him.

“Roddy,” she says quietly, so he won’t be startled. Her brother flinches nonetheless and she gasps, afraid he might fall.

Rodrigo turns to her, his face angry and red and streaked with tears. “How did you get up here?”

“I followed you.”

It was a dumb question.

“You shouldn’t be up here, Sophie,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Neither should you.” Sophia slowly kneels as close to the edge as her bravery allows and puts a hand on his shoulder. She ignores the way San Ángel looks like a town full of ants from their current height and focuses on her brother. “Please, just come home with me and we’ll talk—“

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

She sighs, praying for patience and courage. “Roddy, do you even realize how you’ve been acting these days? You’re not yourself, you fret and worry and you don’t sleep, and it’s scary to us. We’re concerned for your health.”

Rodrigo glowers. “Well, don’t be.”

“That’s not how it works,” she replies forcefully. “We’re your family, you’re my stupid brother, and we will never stop caring about you. But you’re driving us crazy! I just… don’t understand why you can’t just let it go!”

“I’ve tried, okay?!”

He buries his face in his hands. Sophia stares at him with concern. He’s far too young, they both are, to be dealing with such worries.

“I don’t know what to do, Sophie,” he admits, the sound muffled by his hands. “I’ve tried to stop worrying, and I’ve tried to get back to the way things were, but I’m still scared. I don’t even know what for.”

She wants to tell him “just stop worrying, just don’t be scared anymore” but she knows it’s not what he wants, or needs, to hear. Instead she stands shakily to her feet and offers her hand.

“Come home with me.”

Sniffling, he nods and starts to get up. His foot fails to find a solid catch on the edge of the roof and he feels himself slipping before it actually happens. He doesn’t mean to grab her, he tells himself, but in the midst of falling over the edge his hands reach for anything that could help and her wrist is the first thing he finds. Rodrigo hears a terrified yelp as he realizes he’s pulled his sister off the roof with him.

The way down lasts for an eternity and ends with a rustle of feathers, the smell of flowers, and darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger but I needed at least one before this thing ends. Hope you aren't too upset by the ending. The last chapter shouldn't take too long, I'm really quite proud of myself for thinking of a good path for this story to follow. 
> 
> Thank you all for the likes and reviews, they mean so much and I appreciate them. As always, thank you for your time.


	5. Side Effects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mention of death/dying, child peril.

Sophia wakes up from one nightmare to another one.

As she gets up off the dusty ground, she sees nothing but sharp, jagged mountains and giant rusty chains all around her. The air is filled with soot and smells like burning ash, but in fact feels quite cold. Once she’s oriented, Sophia looks around for something, anything that could tell her where she was. The last thing she remembers is the feeling of being ripped apart from someone important.

The girl finally spots a figure in the distance, his form blended into the atmosphere so well she almost missed him. Sophia calmly but quickly hurries over to the man. Up close he resembles a skeleton, strange green markings on his face and eyes and a forlorn look on his withered face.

“Excuse me, señor,” she says, extending a hand. Before she can touch him though, the man’s body crumbles in an instant, the ashes blowing away into nothingness. Sophia shrieks and recoils, her heart pounding from the fright.

At least, it should be.

At a loss, she ignores the lack of sensation and looks around again. There doesn’t appear to be any particular path along the ashen ground, nor does she see any buildings.

After a few minutes of turning in circles she finds an area that could be something substantial. The rocks appear less jagged, the hanging chains more uniform. The closer she gets to the area, the more Sophia can distinguish.

The castle (if it can even be called that) looks like a monstrous two-headed snake, its body winding up in a spiral staircase around a large tower. Up close, she now sees that the entire building is surrounded by a river of flowing lava. A bridge leads to the base of the tower and, although the last thing she’d like to do is climb up another tall structure, the small girl sets off across the bridge.

The biggest room Sophia had ever been in had been the banquet hall at General Posada’s house. Their family had had many parties and events there, mostly for Papá’s accomplishments, and she and Rodrigo always enjoyed the grand openness of the hall.

The room she now entered made Casa de Posada look pathetic in comparison.

The entire room appeared to be carved out of stone, with intricate designs and reliefs covering every inch. The ceiling extended so high above Sophia couldn’t see where it actually stopped. Besides a single strip of stone walkway covered by a long red rug, the room was filled with slow boiling lava. The walkway led to the far end of the room, which appeared to be the inside of the serpent’s mouth, its teeth standing out sharply against the grey skyline. Also standing out even in the darkness of the room was another figure, this one surrounded by candles and… were those wings?

Sophia slowly approached the tall figure, his back turned to her as he surveyed the land below. He did indeed have inky black feathers extending from his back, and black candles surrounded his shoulders and head. His hands are clutched loosely behind his back, his fingers long and spindly and look to be made of tar.

Sophia stops a few feet from the man as he shifts and turns quite suddenly to face her. His face is pitch black and decorated with green markings, similar to the man from before. His irises, however, are candy red and shaped like tiny skulls, their empty sockets also looking straight at her. It feels like they can see straight into her soul.

“Ah, you’re here.”

The man grins, his teeth unsettlingly dark and pointed. He towers over Sophia as he glides closer, his movement making no sound except for the soft rustle of his wings. She is frozen in place as he circles her, studying her for some reason. “Interesting,” he says, his voice deep and low.

“Sorry, do I—have we met before, señor?”

The man pauses, an intrigued look on his face.

Sophia hesitates under his glare. “It’s just that your voice sounds familiar to me.”

“Yes and no,” he replies after a moment. “We’ve met, but under different circumstances.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” she admits quietly.

He waves a thin-fingered hand, dismissing the thought. His unsettling appearance and deep voice unnerve Sophia, but the familiarity of his voice keeps her from running away. She decides to wait for him to finish looking for whatever it is about her that interests him so much. After a moment or to, the man stops in front of her, seemingly satisfied with his observations.

“So then, your father is Joaquín Mondragon?”

She nods. “And Manolo Sánchez.”

He stops to shoot a confused look at the girl.

“No, you… you do realize only one of those men can be your actual father, right?”

“They’re both my actual fathers.”

The man rubs his temple irritably. He did not have time for this. Did it really need to be spelled out?

“You are a Mondragon, child.”

Now it’s Sophia’s turn to look confused. “I know, but I’m also a Sánchez. And a Posada.” She suddenly thrusts a tiny hand toward the towering deity. “Sophia Luisa Mondragon Posada Sánchez,” she recites with a smile.

The man glowers but eventually offers his own hand and the two shake. “Xibalba, god of death, and ruler of the Land of the Forgotten. How do you do.”

“Land of the Forgotten? Is that what this place is?”

“Yes, it’s not much but it’s home.” The god slowly glides over to the edge of the serpent’s mouth, surveying the dismal landscape below. Sophia joins him, taking in the bleakness of the land. _What a terrible place to live,_ she thinks to herself. _But then…_

“Excuse me, señor, but if this is the Land of the Forgotten, then what am I doing here?” The girl glances up at him, studying the curious green flames of the candles mounted on his head and shoulders. Although he gazes out at the landscape, the tiny skulls in his eyes remain focused on her.

“A better question would be ‘why is your brother not here?’” Xibalba grumbles. He strokes his beard as he puzzles over the conundrum. “It doesn’t make sense, I was so sure it was—“

“Rodrigo!” Sophia gasps, clapping her hands to her face. She remembers now. “We were on the roof and I wanted him to come down. I think he reached for my hand, then—then… I don’t know what happened after that. I woke up here.” She looks at him, her brow knit in confusion. “But I don’t know how I got to this place.”

“Is it really that difficult to comprehend, child?”

He almost feels sorry for her naiveté. Almost. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he conjures a small but elegant hand mirror and passes the object to her before returning his attention to the landscape.

Sophia takes the mirror, confused as to why she would need such a thing.

The face that look back is not hers.

With frozen horror she stares at the skeletal figure reflected in the mirror. Its face is bleached white bone, decorated with brightly colored markings. Its eyes, or lack thereof, are blank sockets filled with glowing yellow orbs that flicker back and forth. Shakily, she brings a hand to her own face and feels ill when the skeleton face copies her exactly. Had she really not noticed before that her own skin was missing from her hands, her legs, everything? _Don’t climb up so high, mija,_ her mother’s voice reminds her from a distant memory. _You could fall and--_

“I’m… am I dead?” Sophia whispers hoarsely, as if saying it louder might confirm her fears.

Xibalba doesn’t take his eyes off of the horizon. “That’s more or less what happens when you fall from the top of a tall building.” He begins to pace, stroking his beard once more and muttering to himself. “Though maybe your brother did survive somehow, seeing as he’s not here. He should be here as well. I wonder if that’s even possible.”

The mirror shatters, causing the deity to start and turn around. The girl clenches her hands into fists and covers her face as she begins to wail.

The god sighs and rubs his head. This was getting tiresome, he really didn’t have time to babysit. Humans were so needy. “Please, let’s not start with the crying. There’s no point in—“

His reprimand is cut short as the walls begin to tremble. The lava on either side of the walkway begins to swirl and brighten, violently bubbling up and threatening to fill the entire room. The sky grows darker as Sophia cries harder. Lightening flares in the distance with each wail.

A hand firmly covers her mouth, silencing her instantly. The quaking and storms cease immediately.

“Enough.”

Surprised at the intervention, she stares wide-eyed at Xibalba. The god is kneeling to her level, staring at her with intense curiosity. The tiny skulls in his eyes dart back and forth quickly as he studies her face closely. Cautiously he removes his hand, but she is done crying, now just as confused as he is.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that.”

The skyline outside starts to clear up, and the lava begins to cool. Sophia shakes her head, embarrassed for whatever it is she shouldn’t have done.

“Lo siento, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“Your eyes are green.”

Unbeknownst to the small girl, her irises now burn the same acid green color as the god of death’s candles. That was _definitely_ not supposed to happen.

She frowns. “Th-they’ve always been green.”

He stands abruptly. “Not like that.” Xibalba starts toward the exit, pausing only when he sees Sophia still standing in her spot. He holds out one hand, indicating for her to follow. “Come. We need to talk to someone about this.”

Sniffling, Sophia approaches the deity and grabs his large hand, squeezing it tightly in an attempt for comfort. Xibalba nearly objects but decides they have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Who are we going to talk to?” the girl asks as they being their descent from the tower.

The god grimaces and, for a brief moment, looks nervous.

“Mi amor.”

 

* * *

 

Rodrigo awakens to the sound of music and joyous shouting.

He finds himself lying on a cobblestone street surrounded by brightly lit buildings that don’t quite look right. The architecture is unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Pulling himself to his feet, he is overcome with the loudness and intense colors of the city he immediately decides is not San Angel.

For one thing, San Angel did not have any residents who were skeletons.

Everywhere he turned, there stood a group of skeletal figures, all dressed in bright colors and talking excitedly with one another. Everyone seemed very happy to be here. Even the animals that darted between the people were skeletons, though nobody seemed to mind them. Rodrigo himself didn’t feel concerned with his new surroundings. In fact, this is the most calm he had felt in what seemed like ages. This place radiated with positive energy and joy, despite its inhabitants. How long had he been here?

And where exactly _was_ here?

Like an answer to his questions, a giant skeletal horse appears out of nowhere and comes to a halt in front of him. The horse’s rider, also a skeleton, holds a pad of paper and wore a blue uniform. He looks very official and reminded Rodrigo of his Papá, which he took as a sign to trust this strange man.

“Welcome!” the man announces, his voice booming over the loud music and conversation around them, “To the Land of the Remembered!”

Rodrigo frowns, his brow furrowing. The Land of the Remembered? He had never heard of such a place. “Pardon me, señor, but I think I’m a little lost.” He fidgets, trying to recall what happened before he had woke up. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. You see, I was in San Angel, my home town—“

“San Angel?” The man looks at his papers, flipping through them quickly. “You’re not another Sánchez, are you?”

The boy nods eagerly, relieved that this man might know what was going on. “I am a Sánchez! Well, sort of. My name is Rodrigo Carmelo Mondragon Posada Sánchez.”

The man tsks and scribbles something down. “That family just won’t quit, will they,” he mumbles to himself with a smirk.

Rodrigo looks hopefully up at the man. “Did you say my family is here? Can you take me to them?”

The man puts away his papers and holds out a bony hand, somehow staying balanced on his horse despite leaning over quite far. “Of course I can take you to them. Hop on!”

Rodrigo reaches for him eagerly before freezing, staring at his own hand in shock. His own skeletal hand. The boy frantically examines his hands and arms, turning them over and over, then bringing them to his face to feel that his skin is gone from there too. He looks up worriedly at the man, silently pleading for an explanation. The man’s eyes are two small yellow orbs floating in their empty sockets, but they still convey a sense of sadness.

“It’s alright, son, everybody’s always a little disturbed at first.” The man reaches out and pulls his small frame up onto the horse, seating him in his lap. “It’s going to be okay, your family is going to be so happy to see you.” With that, the man flicks the reigns and they are galloping off, racing delicately between the people around them.

_So I’m dead_ , Rodrigo tells himself, gripping the horse’s mane tightly to keeps from falling off. It came back to him in a rush: climbing to the roof of the church to hide from his parents, Sophie finding him and asking him to come back home, reaching to take her hand…

“Sophia!”

The man glances down at the boy. “Pardon?”

“My sister! She fe—she was with me when I slipped.” He hadn’t seen here when he woke up. “Is she here too? Or did she…” He prayed that perhaps she had somehow survived, that maybe he had only imagined grabbing her, or maybe she hadn’t fallen at all. As lonely as he felt without her here, Rodrigo decides that perhaps it would be okay if only he had died. At least he would be with the rest of his family soon.

In a few moments they arrive at a quieter section of the land. The music isn’t as loud here and there weren’t as many people dancing and shouting. The people he did see, however, were grouped together and seemed oddly familiar.

“Here we are!”

The horse slows to a halt again, stopping just short of the group. Rodrigo suddenly feels a sense of shyness overcome him, but the man is already picking him up and lowering him to the ground. He quickly turns back to the man, unsure of what to do. The man smiles and waves a hand, motioning him to go towards the group. “Don’t worry, they won’t bite!”

The horse rears back and the man is galloping away once more, no doubt off to welcome the next arrival.

Rodrigo watches him go, still feeling lost, when another pair of hands hoist him up off the ground. With a yelp, the boy is turned around and comes face to face with a fierce-looking Aztec warrior. The man’s skull face is yellowed and scarred, but his glowing eyes are kind.

“Who’s this then?”

The boy feels himself calm down. He recognizes the man from the pictures on his walls at home. Papi had often told him about their extensive family history.

“Y-you’re… Carmelo Sánchez. My Papi told me stories about you. You fought bulls without a cape.”

Carmelo smiles widely and turns around, setting the small boy down gently. “Hey everybody! We’ve got another one!” The ancient matador leads Rodrigo to the group, all of them now turning and smiling to greet their newest addition. The boy notices a few of them look momentarily sad as they see how young he is, but most of the people appear excited to see him.

Rodrigo begins to recognize more and more of his ancestors. He points excitedly at each of them, eliciting a smile or a proud nod when he labels them correctly. “You! You’re the great Jorge Sánchez, who fought bulls with one hand behind your back!” “And you’re Luis ‘Super Macho’ Sánchez! You once fought three bulls at the same time!” He turns to the last few family members. “And you,” Rodrigo pauses breathlessly, focusing on the woman before him. Her big yellow eyes burn with interest at him, but she has a kind, familiar smile on her face. It makes him feel weird.

“I know you from the painting, in the living room…”

He approaches the woman slowly and she kneels down to his level as he comes closer. She smiles brightly, extending a hand to softly caress his cheek.

He swallows hard, suddenly overcome with emotion.

“Are you my abuela?”

Carmen laughs gently and pulls the boy into a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, mijito.”

A man dressed in green approaches them and Rodrigo looks up at him. The man’s resemblance to his father is striking. “And you’re my abuelo, Carlos Sánchez, right?” Carlos smiles and nods, bending down to one knee so they are all three eye to eye.

“Yes, I am.”  

Rodrigo feels very safe among these people, his family. He decides that this would not be a bad place to spend the rest of his days.

“What’s your name then, mijo?”

“Rodrigo,” he replies. “Rodrigo Carmelo Mondragon Posada Sánchez.” This grants a proud smirk from Carmelo, an unimpressed glance from Jorge, and a look of confusion from both his grandparents.

Carmen studies his face, an odd look on her face. “Sorry, did you say ‘ _Mondragon-Posada_ -Sánchez’?”

The boy nods. “Yes, my mother is María Posada, and my fathers are Manolo Sánchez and Joaquín Mondragon.” Rodrigo briefly wonders if they could help him find Papá’s father or Mamá’s mother down here. He and Sophia had often talked about what the other sides of their family would be like.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” he exclaims, interrupting the still perplexing looks from his grandparents. “My twin sister, Sophia. I haven’t seen her down here. I don’t know if she—if…” He shakes his head, still not ready to think about it. “Can we try to find her? She’ll want to meet everyone too.”

Carlos smiles and stands, offering a hand to his wife and pulling her up to her feet. Carmen takes Rodrigo’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course, mijito,”Carlos responds as they start off down the road, the entire Sánchez family following behind them. “La Muerte will know where your sister is.”

“La Muerte? Who is that?”

“She is the ruler of the Land of the Remembered,” Carmen answers. “She is very kind and beautiful; she’ll help us find Sophia.”

Rodrigo smiles, truly happy for the first time in months. It feels like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

Before long, the family approaches a grand castle shaped like a giant tree. Marigold petals float endlessly down from the sky above and lanterns hang all over the building’s many branches. As they near, the wide doors slowly open, welcoming them inside. They walk along, guided by floating stone platforms that rise to give them access. Eventually the group enters a magnificent banquet hall filled with tables of food and colorful decorations everywhere. Rodrigo had never been in a room as big as the banquet hall he now stood in. It was much bigger than General Posada’s ballroom, that was for sure.

At the end of the hall, seated in an elegant throne and surrounded by skeleton animals of all kinds, was perhaps the most beautiful woman Rodrigo had ever seen.

The deity is clothed in a deep red dress that hugs her slender figure perfectly. A giant, wide-brimmed hat sits atop her dark curls, decorated in feathers, candles, and tiny skulls. She turns to the approaching group, a smile instantly lighting up her powder-white face. Rodrigo admires the striking decorations on her face, reminiscent of the sugar skulls they would get as treats on _Día de los Muertos_.

La Muerte rises from her throne, towering above even the tallest of the group. She gracefully floats across the floor to stand before them. Rodrigo feels shy once again in the presence of someone so extravagant and tries to hide behind his grandmother. Carmen chuckles and gently guides the boy towards La Muerte. The goddess’ smile widens and her eyes shine with pure love, as she bends down to greet Rodrigo.

“Hola, mi tesorito. It’s good to see you again, though you are here quite early.” Her skin sparkles like pure sugar and the skulls on her hat clink together softly as she tilts her head.

“H-Hola, señora,” he answers quietly. There is something strangely familiar about the goddess, but he can’t seem to place what exactly it is. “I was wondering if you could help me find my sister, Sophie.”

The deity frowns slightly, but waits for him to continue.

Rodrigo starts to fidget again, uncomfortable with being the center of everyone’s attention, especially La Muerte’s. “You see, we were both on the roof of the church when we—when I fell. I don’t know if she is… down here too, but if she is, I was hoping you could help us find her.”

La Muerte stands abruptly, turning away from the Sánchez family. Rodrigo worries for a moment that he had said something to offend, but then she turns back, a concerned look on her face.

“I am sorry, Rodrigo, but she isn’t here.” She clutches her hands together, clearly unnerved by what she’s heard.

Rodrigo, unsure of what to make of her reaction, chuckles uneasily. “T-that’s good though, right? If she’s not here, then maybe she’s okay.” He looks up at La Muerte hopefully. “Right?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Behind him, he hears his family quietly murmur amongst themselves. They too sounded confused by the goddess’ response.

Carlos steps forward politely. “Pardon me, my lady, but you’re sounding… vague. Would you mind telling us what is going on?”

La Muerte bows her head in apology. “Forgive me, dear ones, I do not mean to cause worry.” She focuses on Rodrigo, her big glowing eyes filled with sadness. “Tesorito, I am sorry, but your sister did fall with you. There is no way she survived a fall from that height.”

Rodrigo feels lightheaded and cold as her words hit him. Sophia was dead, then, as was he. But… if not here, in the Land of the Remembered, then where was she? Was she alone?

“I am also sorry to tell you that… I don’t know where she is. I cannot sense her presence here at all.”

In an instant, the cold feeling is replaced by anger.

“You don’t know where she is?!” he yells, slightly surprised at his own rage. Carmen places a hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off and marches up to the goddess. “How could you lose her? She could be anywhere, lost and alone and possibly hurt! You were supposed to be able to help us find her! _WHERE IS MY SISTER?!?_ ”

He meets her eye-to-eye, his seething glare focused entirely on her bewildered face. His face feels hot; unnaturally so, in fact. Rodrigo is suddenly aware that the room has gone eerily quiet.

“Rodrigo?”

The boy turns around. His family stares at him in a deeply confused, almost fearful way. Carmen is halfway reaching out for him, as though she is afraid to touch him. The way she subtly curls into Carlos’ arms for protection suddenly concerns him.

When had his family gotten so far away?

_“How are you doing this?”_

Rodrigo turns back around to face La Muerte. She is still staring at him in shock. Curious, the boy looks down at himself and sees that he is floating in midair. He quickly looks back to the deity for answers but she looks just as lost as he does.

“Your… eyes,” the goddess whispers. “Your eyes are red now.”

Rodrigo feels himself slowly floating back down, his anger vanishing and giving way to fear once he’s back on the ground. He feels embarrassed for some reason, like he’s about to be chastised for what he’s done.

“What does that mean?”

Before she can answer, a rush of wind and black feathers burst through the mosaic window behind them. La Muerte shields herself and Rodrigo from the exploding glass. After the debris settles, all eyes focus on the newcomers.

Xibalba quickly locks eyes with his wife and points at the small girl gripping his hand, still reeling from their journey.

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincerest apologies for going so long without an update! I had lost interest for a while but now I'm back on track. I also ended up lengthening this chapter quite more than I intended to so we've got one more chapter to go.
> 
> Thank you for your time and patience~


End file.
